Sitting at the corner
by Skaternova
Summary: Alfred was the fat, lonely boy in school. Then he met Arthur.


Alfred hated to forget things- be it textbooks, wallet or umbrella. It left him feeling jumpy and nervous for the next few hours. Today, it was his phone. He had left it in Arthur's classroom, next to the new book that his British friend had bought. _Oliver Twist, _Arthur called it_, a classic novel that was definitely worth reading. _Alfred had thought that it was boring, something that only smart ones read.

When the bell rang, Alfred hurriedly grabbed his books and made his way down the corridor with big, quick steps. He could feel people watching him, sniggering and laughing silently, their eyes boring into his back. Alfred had always been the black sheep of school. He didn't- or rather, _couldn't_- blend in with the other students. People like Gilbert would take one glance at him and start talking about him to the French kid, whatever his name was. Then it'd spread to the whole school in hours.

Alfred didn't look ugly or anything. It wasn't because of the fact that he's American either. No, he wasn't fat, he was just a bit plumper than most people. Sure, he wore a Large sized shirt, jeans and half lens spectacles to school, but it really wasn't worth something to gossip about.

Or so he thought.

On his fifth day of school, people started to bump 'accidentally' into Alfred, and names like 'fatass' began to spread around. At first Alfred didn't really care. But as time went on, he noticed that nobody wanted to talk to him. Students in his class would shun away whenever he tried to strike a conversation, and everybody would be staring at him whenever he walked.

So Alfred tried his best not to attract any attention when he was making his way to Arthur's class. They were best friends, and how that happened, Alfred could still remember clearly. Arthur had found him in the library alone at the back, sobbing behind a book. The library was Alfred's hideout. It was quiet and not many people went there anyway. So when Alfred had seen Arthur, he buried his face, wishing that the British boy would go away. After all, he didn't really need more insults after Ivan had humiliated him in front of the whole school. Even after three hours, the American could still hear their laughter ringing in his ears.

When Alfred noticed Arthur staring at him in the library for 5 minutes, the American sent a small glare towards Arthur's direction. Slightly surprised, Arthur went in front of Alfred and pushed the book down. The first thing Alfred noticed were how green his eyes were.

"Are you alright?" Arthur had asked, one hand in his pocket, taking out a piece of tissue. "Here."

All Alfred could do was to stare at the boy in front of him with red eyes. This was the first time someone actually bothered to talk to him. Even if it was out of pity, he liked the warmth welling up inside him. And he wished that it'd last.

"Thanks," Alfred sniffled and took the tissue.

And that was the day when Alfred F. Jones had someone to talk to. With Arthur's presence, no one actually noticed him anymore. Which was something he treasured.

Arthur's class was held in the Language Room, on the third floor, which meant that he had to walk exactly three and a half minutes from where he was currently at now, past gym and across the boys toilet.

As the American made his way to Arthur's class, he saw a girl reading her textbook at the wooden table. She reminded him of the girl that Arthur was sitting with last time, exchanging notes and discussing about Shakespeare. They were at the back of the class, talking animatedly when Alfred walked in. He felt like walking into a class which was cold and empty, and watching them together made him sick. She had introduced her overbearing boyfriend to Arthur once, and they had had dinner together. Seafood, Alfred recalled. He felt nauseous immediately.

Alfred was so deep in thought that he didn't notice that he had already reached the room. Through the window, he could see several students inside looking at their textbooks, even though quite a few of them had phones under their desks. But Arthur wasn't there. Nor was the table where he sat at.

The mahogany piece of wood swung open roughly, and a tall teacher with short blond hair frowned at him. It was Arthur's teacher.

"Well?" He asked with a strong Swiss accent. Alfred thought that he had an aggressive edge to his voice.

"Hi," the American squeaked, "may I go in?"

The teacher ushered him into the room. The air around him was heavy and silent. His limbs tensed by the minute. The ticking of the clock was the only thing that could be heard.

"Hey fatso!" Someone from the back screamed. "Why don't you fuck off and get the hell outta here?"

The room erupted into laughter almost immediately. Alfred felt his face getting hot. Where was Arthur? His blue eyes scanned the room in one swift moment. A lump rose up in his throat and he swallowed it down forcefully.

Arthur usually sat at the far end of the class, nearest to the window. He'd look out of the glass pane during lessons, lost somewhere in his own world. Other times he'd doodle on sketchbooks and draw pictures of unicorns or fairies. But today, his seat was gone, his bag was gone, his whole being was gone. Alfred gaped at the blank space, words evaporating on his tongue. He scanned the room left and right- a second time, a third time, but still no sign of the blond haired boy. He had to be among the twenty students in the class, somewhere. Alfred counted the seats. One, two, three, four... It ends at four. Wasn't there supposed to be a five? At least someone would have noticed him, right?

But Arthur Kirkland was not there.

It was as if his best friend had faded away, just gone. Like that. Alfred frowned. You'd think that by being friends with Arthur for three weeks, he'd know his friend's habits well enough by now. Even if Arthur had gone home in the middle of the lesson, he'd still pass by Alfred's classroom to tell him. After all, that was what they had agreed on. To tell each other everything.

"...W-where's Arthur Kirkland...?" Alfred managed to spit out, hands trembling slightly. Maybe he'd learn to enjoy _Oliver Twist _fromnow on.

The teacher started at him weirdly. "Who do you mean?"

"Arthur Kirkland... Arthur," Alfred looked at the taller man, panicking slightly. "He's your student, isn't he?"

"...Who are you talking about?"

"Kirkland! The guy from England!"

"I don't know him."

By now, the whole class was silent. Even though there were a few occasional sniggers, Alfred didn't care. His eyes were wild and scared... Maybe he could contact Arthur in some way... A phone?

"May I borrow your phone?" Alfred asked the Swiss man, extending out his hand.

Nodding hesitantly, the teacher got out his and gave it to Alfred. He was about to dial the number when it dawned him that he didn't actually know it. All he ever did to call Arthur was to press 'Arthur' on his contact list. Alfred stared helplessly at the phone, frantic and confused. Then he remembered the girl, the girl that gave Arthur seafood, smiling so happily and joyfully. In fact, Alfred thought that Arthur looked happy too.

Alfred's heart grew heavy as if a weight was placed on it. He swallowed and gripped the edges of his shirt. Then he walked out of the classroom and sat in the garden, dropping his bag. The burden landed on the ground with a thump, like a fallen bird, with dark pools forming at his feet.


End file.
